Temporary Secretary

Part 59

9 August 1981

8:30am Sunday

—--

You had woken up a bit before him. The morning sunlight hung over the both of you like another blanket. The window was open, letting in the comfortable coolness from the night before, though judging from the sun, it would likely not last very long.

You'd slipped from him, his arm still resting over your side, head in the crook of your shoulder. He'd made a small sound, but seemed to still be asleep.

After you'd washed your face, stepping back into the room, Paul seemed to be stirring, blurrily blinking his eyes awake. He was sweet in the mornings, his dark hair curling almost before he combed it through.

You had slipped off your nightgown, changing into daytime clothes.

Of course, you didn't care if he saw you change. He knew what you looked like. (though, you still sensed him watch).

You put on your brasserie, clipping it on the back. You'd gotten a bigger size in may, yet it was beginning to feel tight again. Suppose they would still glow slightly until the end. You wondered if they'd stay like this, and your old sets would be obsolete. You'd liked your old ones...

Paul liked them, anyway. Quite pleased about that.

You'd picked out a skirt to wear. You slipped it on, your blouse already buttoned up. Those still fit, the light flowy ones. Good for summer, too.

You reached around back to zip up the skirt.

It stopped. You tugged, but it would not zip up all the way.

Your face burned hot.

It was getting more difficult to hide, you thought. You were able to do so, or at least not draw attention to it as it grew. If you had a flowy dress, or a skirt with a particularly high waist, also flowy. They wouldn't know unless they looked for it. Generally people didn't look too hard.

But you believed you were reaching a point...

The skirt had fit a couple weeks ago. Your brow creased in frustration. A sort of helplessness too.

It was the waistline. Your stomach was getting bigger, but that was lower. Even some of your old skirts, or skirts bought a little while ago would still button at the waist. This was one you'd bought in June.

Of course, you knew it was coming. You'd been lucky this far, not being much of a shower. But it was inevitable, wasn't it. It couldn't just not happen. It was going to happen.

It wasn't as much the vanity of "getting fat". It was your body that troubled you, your sense of self. It was your physical form, and your clothing. Even with that, you didn't buy clothing very much. You would mend and sew, get your damned money's worth.

"You're really getting bigger now." Paul said, from where he lay, seemingly pleased with himself. Your attention was diverted.

His voice was tinged with sleep, so sweet sounding. Even though it had smug, self-fellating implications.

You turned, and scowled at him.

"How could you say that to me?"

He giggled, an attempt to pacify you. He wasn't even quite looking your direction, still laid in the bed, relaxed.

"I meant it as good." He said. "I want to be able to see. I've been looking forward to it.

The pleased smugness within it was subdued, but still present. Of course, it wasn't directed at your expense, truly present within him. Of course, too, you knew him enough to recognize it.